Trial of the Garmir
| Trial of the Garmir | |
|---|---|
Werewolf Blood Talons | |
| Players
John, Charon as ST |
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John sits behind his desk in the staff office, looking over an invoice. He's dressed for his morning run, in shorts, running shoes, and a plain gray athletic t-shirt. His laptop is closed, sitting next to him atop a stack of papers. Headphones are draped around his neck, and there's a water bottle on the desk. Without warning, John can hear a voice murmur in First Tongue into his ear in a flat, measured tone, without any inflection or trace of personality. Someone is sending a message via Lune. ~Aziha Zuu, aspirant to the Garmir, know that I, Shar-Sahazul the Manykiller, full-moon follower of Garm-Ur comes to judge your battle prowess.~ ~Know that I will be unmerciful, for the next opponent awaits. Prepare yourself for battle and spare nothing of your strength, lest you be judged unworthy.~ ~Meet me in the abandoned Amtrak warehouse in Clearing at high noon. Tarry not.~ John's brow furrows. The message is a surprise, but he recognizes it for what it is. He puts the paper down, and stands from his chair. A moment is given to pacing, and then he picks up the water bottle to take a long drink. Next, he finds his phone. A quick Google search to find the place on the map -- he's familiar with it, but wants to know exactly how long it will take to get there. The next step is canceling appointments -- he clears out the day, and sets some time emails to cancel tomorrow's appointments, too. Getting out to Clearing from here takes about half an hour, out to a swath of abandoned warehouses in Clearing. The sky is steel-gray, cool rain pours, thunder rolls. This is a place devoid of people, with plenty of industrial wasteland to keep the battles of the Garmir secret. The parking lot is just as empty as the crumbling Amtrak warehouse. The day is at its brightest at high noon, cracks of light shining through the clouds. Still the rain does not relent, and thunder continues to crash. The heavy steel door has been wrenched off of its hinges, deadbolt dragged through the frame. Inside, a giant olive-skinned man with shaggy black hair and beard stands in the center of the empty warehouse, barrel-chested and rippling with muscle. He wears a pair of high-visibility neon-green pants, steel-toed boots, and nothing else. John parks his SUV nearby, jogging the last couple of blocks to the warehouse to get his blood flowing. He's dressed in a different pair of running shorts, the same athletic t-shirt, a black watch cap and a rainproof jacket. Warned to prepare himself for a fight, he allows his body to shift to Dalu form before he exits the vehicle, half-expecting to be set upon en route. When he arrives at the warehouse, he approaches slowly, but with purpose in his stride. Stopping just inside the doorway, he announces, "I am Aziha Zuu," and readies himself. Shar-Sahazul scowls when he sees John enter, and his eyes indicate... longing? Disappointment? "You know who I am then," he says. "Enter, Aziha Zuu. Do you know what it is I seek?" His tree-trunk arms unfold from his chest, revealing dozens of battle scars. John circles to his left, his movements slow and measured, stopping several paces from Shar-Sahazul. "What do you seek," he asks, his voice low and clear -- even, for now. "Death in battle!" Shar-Sahazul barks back. "I seek death, Aziha Zuu, against the foe who shall best me at last." He paces once, twice, to his own left, eyes on John. "Will you be the one to lay me low? Accept my challenge, that I may know." "I accept," Aziha Zuu says, flexing his hands briefly into fists. His feet shift as he readies himself, watching Shar-Sahazul, readying to throw himself at the larger Uratha once he signals his first move. The longing in Shar-Sahazul's eyes fades, replaced with manic glee when John accepts. "Kill me then, Aziha Zuu! Be the one to lay me low!" With that, he charges, arms spread, his tread sending shivers through the cracked foundation below. John launches himself at the larger Uratha, intent on meeting him in the center of the warehouse. A sudden shift as they come together leaves John on the receiving end of one of those tree-trunk arms across his head and shoulder, though, and the young Rahu is knocked from his feet. The impact is hard enough to raise dust from the warehouse floor. Shar-Sahazul barely manages to drag his foot away from the sudden snap of Aziha Zuu's jaws. He aims a savage kick at John's chest. This close, it is now obvious where it might not have been before. Shar-Sahazul is still in the hishu form. He hasn't even shifted yet. Aziha Zuu is lifted by the kick, yelping as ribs crack under the assault. He snarls, thrashing on the warehouse floor, and snaps back at his opponent. He catches a leg the size of most mens' torso in his maw, and his teeth rend and tear until blood paints the warehouse floor. "Yes!" Shar-Sahazul cries, rejoicing in the extreme pain and the flow of blood, even as his leg buckles under the strain. Even as the flesh knits back together, it's still not enough to heal the leg for the next few moments of combat. Will it be enough? Straining through the pain, the Garmr reaches down to grab Jack by the neck in his left hand, and by the leg in the other, holding him down. Aziha Zuu yelps as the giant drives his head into the warehouse floor, overpowered despite his current size advantage. As the Garmir breaks the grapple and springs back, the dire wolf snaps its jaws, rending flesh from his foe's forearm. Shar-Sahazul roars his pain out, rattling the broken windows as his massive form crushes down into a comparatively massive wolf. His jaws snap at John's prone Urshul neck, but he misses! Aziha Zuu flinches back away from his opponent's snapping jaws, just fast enough that Shar-Sahazul's teeth click closed on only air. The younger Rahu lunges back immediately, his teeth clamping closed on the other Urathat's face briefly, and he lets the Garmir's strength and momentum as he pulls away drag him back to his feet. Ragged chunks of flesh tear away from Shar-Sahazul's face, exposing the pulsing meat on his neck and revealing his huge, yellowed teeth. The flesh knits together on his forearm and begins to close around his face as he lunges once more, crushing two of his ribs to powder and mangling the flesh. Aziha Zuu's fur is matted with blood, his flesh torn. He is much the smaller of the dire wolves, despite his size, and perhaps less nimble as well. He is determined, though. When Shar Sahazul's teeth close on his flesh, he feels his ribs break, but he returns the bite in kind, his teeth savagely rending his opponent's flank almost in the same instant. Shar-Sahazul bleeds hot and fast from his wounds, and now he throws himself into the battle with abandon. His bloodthirsty exuberance shows as he bites down into Aziha Zuu's neck, dragging him up and closer, ready to pin him down! Yet the Manykiller cannot account for the raw savagery of Aziha Zuu's assault. Claws rip through his body, tearing the flesh of his wolf-form apart like soggy curtains of fur and meat. John's claws split him open from neck to groin, so he rises into the Urshul form, then all the way up into the killing form, flesh shredding as he rises to his full height of nine feet. He screeches in agony, jaws still wrapped around John's throat. Aziha Zuu's body cracks, shifts, and tears along with his opponent's. The clumsier claws of the dire wolf become the refined killing instruments of his war form, and he reaches behind himself to bury them up to his palms in his foe's groin, tearing downward with all his might. He fights and tears, his own blood commingling with Shar Sahazul's on the floor below them, until a sudden crack of bone signals the end of his awareness. When John next comes to, he's propped up, seated against the wall. With consciousness comes pain like a thousand hot knives seared into his neck. Shar-Sahazul stands about twenty feet away, once more in his shaggy homid form. "You're awake," he grunts. "You did not kill me. That was to be expected. You fought as befits the Fenrir, and you did not stop fighting until the jaws of death sheared you apart. The ~Uralathim~ of Garm's Lodge bore witness to your prowess, and deem you worthy. When you rise to your feet, you do so as one of the Garmir. One day, when you have grown strong, find me and challenge me again. I will welcome such a glorious death." John winces as the sights and sounds of the world rush in to meet him, each of Shar-Sahazul's words like a hammer against his skull. He begins a deep breath, but stops short as his lungs press against cracked ribs, and it comes out raggedly. "I will," he offers, his voice hoarse and broken. Blood bubbles from his mouth with the words, but his hand won't move to clear it away. He simply stares at the Shar-Sahazul from where he sits. "Do that," Shar-Sahazul replies, "And perhaps one day Garm-Ur himself will challenge you. Until then, take on his mission: seek death in battle against a superior foe, as I have. Die well, Aziha Zuu." With that, he turns around and lumbers out the door, into the rain. | |